A New Group
by AplJax3
Summary: Erin is an ex-student who's been alone in the apocalypse for a while. She finally stumbles on a new group, but doesn't receive as warm as a welcome from everyone as she hopes. This doesn't ship Caryl, and takes place before the end of season 2. There will be violence, loss of life, and 'bedroom' scenes.
1. Chapter 1

One: The Camp

I stumbled out of the woods, grateful that I didn't lose the large pack strapped to my back along the trek, despite the close calls. As I walked further from the edge of the woods, hunched over and barely able to catch my breath, I thought back on the nightmare that had been the past seven months. First the outbreak, paired with confusion. One second, everyone was fine. Nothing to worry about; just another day, another night, the world spinning around the sun in a perfectly normal fashion. Then one perfect morning, the sun shining bright, people were running about like crazy, screaming, trying to find their way to safety. Their paranoia was justified, though. They were being chased—not run after, no, but chased nonetheless. The ones following the paranoid runners moved with a slow deliberation, like they knew their game had something they desperately needed. I remember distinctly watching as the pursuant party stumbled along, reaching for their targets. Watching as one grabbed a young child, a girl of maybe eight with dark brown hair, lifted her up, and bit down into her neck. Despite everything that happened since then, seeing a child being eaten alive while her parents continued to run is still the worst thing I have ever witnessed. Before the girls screams were silenced, I turned and ran back into my apartment building, back into my comforting world.

I called everyone I knew, everyone I loved, begging for answers. I turned on the television, switching back and forth from every news channel I subscribed to, scouring all available sources to find out what had happened. But nothing. No news about anything other than the president's plans for healthcare and whatever else. Nothing local, nothing terrible other than the usual killing thanks to an idiot with a gun or knife. I remember decided to turn everything off, change from my suit to pajamas, and climb back into bed and pretend that I had inadvertently walked onto a movie set. The next day would be better, I was sure.

Except is wasn't. There were more people wandering around, stumbling over things that they should have easily avoided. More people joining as a group to follow others around, grumbling, groaning, and reaching toward others desperately. Once again, I retreated before any of them could come after me.

The third day…the third day is in my top five worst days in the past seven months. That was when the city started to smell like death and decay. When there was blood all over the streets, people lying on ground with their abdomen, arms, legs, even their necks and faces eaten away. When the creatures that used to be human had finally begun breaking into buildings. That was the day I killed for the first time, using, of all things, a plunger.

It had started with my realization that not only had I run out milk, but I was also out cereal, eggs, bread, and jesus Christ why didn't I go grocery shopping more often? The only god damn thing in my apartment that was edible was pasta and baking powder in the back of the fridge. As I was lamenting over my poor apocalypse preparation skills, someone began scratching front door. I closed the fridge and wandered over to check, never once realizing that I should probably have a weapon in my hand. I stuggled to look through the built in peep hole, trying not to get injured by my tightly wound nerves and messy apartment. When I looked through, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I screamed. Not just a normal, holy-crap-that-was-scary scream, but a blood curdling, shit your pants, I didn't know my vocal chords could _do that_ scream. But who can blame me? The thing I was looking at had been partially scalped, the skin hanging as a flap from the top of its head. One eye had sunken into the skull, the other had been ripped out completely. The thing's nose was gone, leaving a hole where the tip should be. The only thing on its face that hadn't sustained damage was its mouth, and that was covered in red liquid that dripped thickly down its bone-exposed chin.

My scream did two things: first, it notified the creature that yes, I was home. Second, it reminded the creature how to use door knobs, while reminding me that I forgot to lock my door. Which was unfortunate, seeing as how the knob was turning as quickly as I was backing away. So I ran into the only room that had a door in my studio apartment: the bathroom. Which, conveniently, did not have a lock on the door. So I hid in the tub, because that's not a cliché at all.

During my trip down memory lane, I managed to get my foot stuck in an animal hole and fall on my face. Again. For running from decaying cannibals, I sure tripped a lot. It was bad enough that I lost a shoe while running through the woods, and now I was lying in an open field, with a fifteen pound pack pressing down on my already pained and sweaty back. While contemplating just how horrible it would be to allow myself to lie on the ground until I died of starvation or exposure, I managed to climb to my feet and continue on my slow progress through the biggest field I had ever had the misfortune of trekking through.

I almost missed the fence. Had it not been for hitting my thigh off of the crooked and almost fallen post, I definitely would have walked into the barbed wire and turned my thighs and already destroyed jeans into meat ribbons. The post also alerted me to something that I otherwise may not have noticed: a giant white house off to my left, with a few cars close to the porch and an R.V. surrounded by tents a little further away.

People. Real, living, breathing, non-cannibalistic people. I hoped. I would have cried if I hadn't been so dehydrated.

As it was, I about ripped off my pack, tossed it over the fence and followed suit, nearly but not quite landing flat on my face again. I did manage to land spectacularly on my pack, my right knee landing on a canned good that I had stored at the bottom of the bag. So when I got up, finally got the pack strapped on and started on my way toward the closest sign of life I had seen for weeks, I was limping. And grunting in pain from my knee. Did I mention I was also dirty and bloody from various cuts, scrapes, and blood splatters from close-range cannibal killing?

Which should leave no one surprised that I did not receive a happy welcome party, but instead a surly man with messy dark hair, a leather vest paired with dirty jeans and boots, squinting and pointing a crossbow at my head once I got close enough to the tents.

"I'm human," I croaked, holding my hands up and wincing in pain when I stupidly tried to stand on both legs, instead of leaving the weight off my right. The knee injury may have just occurred, but it was getting painful quickly.

"You sure about that?" The man asked with a thick southern drawl, the crossbow still aimed at my forehead.

"It's debatable, I suppose." I conceded, and lowered my hands, my left hand instinctively coming to rest on the knife attached to my hip. Slowly, the man lowered his crossbow.

"Where'd you come from?" He asked quietly, continuing to take in my appearance.

"Most recently? The woods. Before that? The highway. And further back? Greenville, North Carolina." I offered, taking a few steps toward him.

"For a southern girl, you ain't got an accent." His arm tensed on his crossbow once again, as though he was debating on whether or not he should raise it and be done with me.

"I'm not a southern girl, and you _really_ need to figure out if you're going to shoot me or not." I almost growled. This was not the way humans were supposed to act toward each other, not now, when strength lies in numbers. After a long moment, he slung the crossbow over his back.

"Daryl," he said quietly, turning and walking toward the closest tent that had a motorcycle parked by it. Not having any better ideas, I decided to follow him.

"Not to sound stupid, but your name is Daryl, right? You weren't—erm—directing me to find someone else named Daryl?" I asked when we reached the tent. I pulled my pack off, again, and dropped it to the ground, listening to the cans at the bottom hit against each other almost musically. I very slowly and painfully began lowering myself to ground beside it.

"Yeah, I'm Daryl. And if you want to stay, you have to talk to Rick." And with that, the first human I had seen since I can't remember when, walked off. Carefully, I began digging through my pack. That's about when I heard another person approach, and I pulled my knife out, twisted around, and almost stabbed an old man in the knee. Instead I stopped myself, and he kneeled beside me.

"Where'd you come from, young lady?" He asked carefully, pulling off his floppy hat and revealing a thinning head of hair as white as his beard. He had a large rifle tucked behind his back and a Hawaiian print shirt on over a yellowed tank top, with khakis that had dirt on the knees, but were otherwise almost clean. I looked into his dark eyes; he wasn't as surly as Daryl had been.

"North Carolina. My name's Erin," I held out my dirty right hand in order to shake his.

"I'm Dale. You came a long way," Dale commented while shaking my hand. "You can put your knife away, the only ones around here who'll bite Shane or Daryl, and neither of them seem to be here."

I smiled and slipped my knife back into its sheath. "Tell me Dale, does anyone know anything about knee injuries? I seem to have killed mine while hopping over the fence."

"Killed your knee, huh? Well, you're in luck. There's a doctor around here somewhere," Dale turned from me and shouted. "Glen? Hey, Glen! I need you to come over here!"

After a moment, a young Asian kid with a blue baseball cap came running over. "Hey Dale, what's up? Who's this?" He asked when he noticed me. His face soured when he took me in, and I couldn't blame him.

"Her name is Erin and she hurt her knee. Would you mind helping to get her into the house? Hershel should be willing to take a look." Dale prompted Glen, who then shifted from foot to foot.

"I can try, Dale…but ever since the…incident, I don't know how Hershel will feel about any of us, let alone a new comer." Glen came closer and bent beside me. "No offense." He offered while hoisting my arm over his shoulders. Dale took my other arm, and between them, my good leg, and the muscles I had developed over the past few months, I was on my foot and off my right leg faster than I would have thought possible. It was slow progress to the house, but mostly because other people kept coming up asking who I was and what was going on, completely ignoring me in most cases. Out of everyone from the tent camp, the nicest person I met was Carol, who I had been informed later on had recently lost her 12 year old daughter. After we got into the house, a woman with short brown hair named Maggie had run off to find her father, while a blonde woman with slightly curly hair named Pam came into the room and began examining the various cuts all over my body.

"You can do stitches?" She asked after seeing the handy work I had done to my left arm with dental floss and a sewing needle that was still healing. I nodded.

"In this new world, you kind of have to learn new skills," I hissed as she examined my handy work. The cut was only a few days old, and it still sent pain through my arm and into my chest whenever it was touched or bumped, which was more frequently than I would have liked. Pam nodded and continued to examine me, and after a few minutes she left the room and returned with a bowl of water, a wash cloth, and a clean shaven old man with thinning white hair who stood tall despite his obvious age.

"I'm Hershel, and if you don't mind, I'll take a look at your knee." He said quickly as he walked over to the couch I was sitting on. He sat on the coffee table opposite me and began examining my right leg, tearing away my already ruined pants in order to better examine my knee. Maggie stood in the door way watching as Hershel worked on my knee and Pam worked everywhere else.

After poking around at my knee for a few minutes, Hershel directed his attention to Maggie. "I'll need you to get me another bowl of warm water, as well as a clean ace bandage and some clothes this young woman can change into after she showers."

"You have hot water? A shower? I can get _clean_?" I asked excitedly before Maggie could reply to Hershel or even move. I noticed her smile, and how it lit up her face. Hershel smiled and let out a small chuckle.

"Yes, you can shower, but only after your knee gets patched up. It's just bruised by the way, and slightly swollen," Hershel replied. Maggie went off to the kitchen still smiling, and I almost told her about the clothes I had stored in my pack, except they were all covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. "If you have any clothes, though, I'm afraid you'll have to find another to way to wash those; we're working on conserving the generators for night use only. Also, after you shower you'll have to stay with the people in tents despite your injury; we simply don't have the room in the house, and you won't be able to go up or down stairs for a while."

Maggie returned with the requested supplies, and Hershel began wrapping my knee. When he was finished, he and Maggie and helped me stand, and Maggie led me to the bathroom. "You'll have to excuse my father; we just lost some of our family, and he's blaming everyone around him right now." She smiled and turned the water on for me. "Now, remember to keep your knee wrapped and dry, and the clothes are on toilet." Maggie left the bathroom, and I began to strip.

Half an hour later (it was the first real shower I had had in at least five months, don't judge) I was wiping the steam off of the mirror and began brushing my soaking wet hair and working it back into the French braid it was in. I was sick of having my dark hair in this braid, but the apocalypse didn't allow for styling my extraordinarily curly hair. What it did allow for though was time for me to marvel at how long my hair had grown in the past seven months. Finally, the braid was done and I managed to get dressed. Thankfully Maggie had supplied me with underwear, which meant I could now hand wash the bra and panties I had been wearing and hang them to dry where no one would ogle them. As for the clothing I had dropped on the floor, I decided that they were better off being burned than cleaned and re-worn. I worked my way out of the bathroom and found myself face to face with a dark haired and serious looking woman named Lori, who was holding a pair of boots and socks.

"I noticed you were missing a shoe earlier, and thought you might need these," She said while offering the shoes and socks forward. If I hadn't been so tired, I probably would have burst into tears. As I was, I found myself hugging her as tightly as I could with no memory of moving forward.

"Thank you," I sighed while finally stepping back. She looked both scared and amused, still holding the boots. I took them from her hands, sat down on the bed behind her, and began putting the socks on.

"You look like you've been through a lot," Lori said while sitting next to me.

"Yeah," I replied while slipping my left foot into the boot. "Oh my god, these actually fit. Lori, I could kiss you right now."

Lori leaned away from me, suddenly uncomfortable. "I—I'm married," She stammered slowly. I rolled my eyes and forced my right foot into the remaining boot.

"And I'm straight," I explained and slowly stood. Having the bandage on my knee was really helping. "I traveled down here from Greenville, North Carolina. The group I was with thought Florida was a smart place to go, and I didn't feel like arguing." Lori led the way out of the house and helped me hobble down the front steps and into the yard.

"Ah. My husband, Rick, should be back soon. He and Shane went to round a few supplies. Glen usually goes on the supply runs, but he decided to stay back today." Lori and I began a slow trek toward the tents, the sun slowly setting. "We're a group of eight, not including those in Hershel's family. We tend to stick together."

"So I gathered,"

"How long have you been on your own?" Lori asked as we reached the first tent.

"I lost count. I think it's been three or four weeks. I don't know, though. We got separated on the highway, and I decided to work my way through the woods. That's where I lost my shoe and had to do my own stitches." I briefly held up my arm, showing Lori my handy work.

"That's not that bad," She marveled and took my arm in her hands to closer examine my work. "Did you go to nursing school or something?"

"Uh, no. I was in school for a bachelor's in elementary education, but dropped out about a year ago in order to survive. Had I known the world was going to turn into hell, I would have stayed and school and not worried about the debt."

We were still standing in front of the first tent talking when a blonde woman with her hair tied into a pony tail and bag on her shoulder came over. It took me a second, but I finally remembered Glen telling me her name was Andrea. I was about to greet her, but she gave me an annoyed glance and started talking to Lori as though I wasn't there.

"I got the fire for dinner started, and Carol's moving around. Carl found some soup, so he's working on getting the cans open and into the pot." Andrea positioned her back to me, while Lori kept giving me furtive glances.

"I'll go see what exactly Carl found," Lori responded and walked off toward the orange fire glowing against the almost black grass. After a moment, Andrea turned toward me.

"What exactly are you expecting from us?" She asked. I took a step back, glad that I put my weight on my left knee. I may have a bandage on my right knee, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"Uhm, nothing. I've been on my own for a while, you're the first people I've seen. I just thought it'd be nice to have some company that weren't trying to eat me alive." I turned on my heel and walked away, headed in the direction of Daryl's tent, where my pack last was.

When I finally reached the spot, it took me a moment to find the dark bag on the dark ground, as the sun while setting in spectacular purple and orange shades, was doing nothing to illuminate the absurdly dark ground. I finally kicked it, then sat down carefully and began looking for the flash light that was right on top of my sleeping bag, but had managed to slide down to the bottom. I pulled out the flash light as well as a can of who knew what and the can opener, and began to open dinner.

"You're not seriously eating just a can of green beans for dinner, are you?" came a thick accented voice from behind me. I jumped, causing me to drop the can, which was only halfway open, onto the ground and twisted around to see the outline of who I assumed was Daryl.

"I was, but then I thought to myself 'Hmm, there was an Applebee's about fifty miles to the south, so I'll go there'." I snapped and picked up the can. I heard a chuckle, then a thump beside me. Daryl entered his tent, retrieved something, and came back out.

"You share your canned crap, and I'll give you a squirrel," He offered while beginning to start a fire in a well-used make shift pit.

"While it's not steak, you've got yourself a deal."


	2. Chapter 2

Two: The Well

Daryl handed me a still hot squirrel, being careful to make sure I grabbed the cool end of the stick. After taking it, I watched him closely, observing for which part I should bite into. He didn't remove the internal organs, but instead simply skinned the two squirrels and shoved a stick down their throat. I didn't want to take a giant bite and end up with a heart and some ribs in my mouth.

"Somethin' wrong?" He asked after chewing the meat he had bitten off the squirrel's rib. I mimicked his bite, chewed, and swallowed. The meat, while being my first bite of fresh meat in seven months, was utterly delicious, but also a little rough and stringy. This definitely wasn't a lazy squirrel. I took my time chewing.

"I've never eaten anything straight off the bone before, let alone something that still had its intestines inside." I explained and mimicked another of his bites on the squirrel's ribs.

"It's not the best way to eat these things," he conceded after biting into the squirrel's left thigh. "But I don't have a way to make soup or anything else. And I was too damn hungry to gut the thing."

Before long, we had both finished our squirrels and green beans, but Daryl wouldn't let the fire burn down. He seemed to be enjoying watching the flames do their dance, and I wasn't exactly complaining about the heat. Fall was here, the leaves were changing, and even in Georgia it got pretty cold at night.

"How long have you been with the group?" I finally asked. My curiosity was burning. It couldn't have been long; his tent was furthest from everyone, close to an old brick chimney that was falling apart. With his area this secluded, he couldn't have been with these people for more than a month or two. He was so quiet for so long I thought he wasn't going to answer.

"A while," he said while poking the fire.

"So…how come you're so far away from everyone else?" I figured it couldn't hurt to find out some information. How wrong I was.

"Look," he said while dropping the stick and staring straight at me. "We ain't gon' do no swapping stories and sharing our lives. I got my reasons to be far from them, and they're my business. What's it to you, anyway?"

"Sorry," I said slowly, holding my hands up to show that I didn't mean to offend him. "I was just curious—"

"Yeah? Well don't be." He cut me off and went back to staring at the fire.

"Daryl, you're the first person I've seen in a while. A month, at least. I've been alone, wandering through those fucking woods, trying to find my way out and food at the same time. I had to teach myself how to stitch skin, and damn near passed out doing it. Out of everyone I've met today, you're the fucking nicest. So excuse me for trying to get to know you. Fuck." I hadn't meant to say everything so fast, or use 'fuck' as many times as I had. But I needed him to understand; I wasn't trying to pry, just trying to get to know the first person I had seen in a while, the first person who offered to share food and not pretend that I didn't exist. I began tugging my sleeping bag from the pack.

"I don't share my life story, and I'm not nice," He stood up abruptly and turned toward his tent. "Don't let the damn fire go out." He snapped at me, entered his tent, and zipped it close.

I finally succeeded in pulling out my sleeping bag, laid it out beside me, and rolled on top of it. It was easier than trying to scoot inside the damn thing. I didn't bother removing my new-old boots, and if my knee had been in better shape, I'd have just said screw it and climbed a tree to sleep in. I reached out and grabbed the stick Daryl was using and poked at the fire a little. It was cold enough that I could see my breath a little, and the fire was nice. I was still poking the fire and listening to the crackle when a person walked up. From their height and width, I judged that it was a man. I couldn't see his face, but he was bigger than Glen, Hershel, and Dale, so I assumed it was either Rick or Shane. They moved closer to the fire and sat down beside me, but not close enough that I could reach out and touch him. I could see his features though: he had scruff on his face, his hair was short enough that I could see his scalp, and his nose had a bump that made me wonder how many times he broke it. He turned his attention to me, and I was almost instantly frightened.

Something in his dark eyes suggested that he was very, very close to losing his mind and killing everyone in sight.

"Where'd you come from?" He asked roughly. I swallowed a few times and tried to find my voice.

"Uh…the woods." I managed to croak. I felt like I should have a gun pointed at his head, just to be safe. Looking at him was like looking at dog that had its teeth bared and its hackles up.

"No shit, I mean before that. Your group. Where are they?"

"I don't know, Shane. I started out in North Carolina. When I hit the highway, I met up with a small group of about four. They were headed to Florida, so I decided to join them. We got separated on the highway a month ago, I think, and I've been wandering those damn woods looking for a way out since." I said carefully. I wanted to tell him to get the hell away from me, but I didn't want to die, either. So I kept a carefully rude mouth. Shane smiled, not a happy smile, but more of a I understand, reassuring smile. It didn't change his psychotic eyes.

"Okay. Was there anyone in your group named Randall?" He leaned closer to me when he asked, lowering his face toward mine. I drew back a little and turned my attention to the fire again. Shane was very quickly making me want to run away.

"No," I said shortly, remembering the people I had traveled with. I poked the fire once more, wondering if too many pokes and movements would put the now small fire out. I hoped not.

"You sure about that?" Shane asked, and leaned even closer toward me. His face was almost next to mine, and I didn't like it.

"Shane, right?" I asked, and he nodded. "All right. The people I was with? One other girl and two guys. Tracy, Bill, and Derrick. No Randall. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep." I set the stick down, rolled onto my back, and closed my eyes so I couldn't see Shane and his bag full of crazy anymore.

"That's fine," He said carefully. "That's real fine. But don't get too comfortable, here. We got enough shit to deal with, without adding a near cripple to it all." And with that, he stalked off. When I felt he was far enough away, I sat up and began to remove my boots. It seemed I would be sleeping inside the bag with my knife in my hand after all.

That first cannibal…it scared me beyond reason, to the point that I was doing something I swore I'd never do in terrifying situation like this. But it was too late—I could hear it shuffling around my apartment, knocking things over, looking for me. My bathroom was small, and I knew that the only weapon I had was either the rod to the shower curtain, or the plunger that was in the space between the tub and toilet. As I was reaching for the plunger, the bathroom door opened, and in came the monster. I remember abandoning the plunger idea and flattening myself against the shower stall tiles, trying not to scream as the should-be-dead-but-still-walking person reached out for me, opened its mouth, and let out a low moan. Had it not come from a decaying man, I would have sworn the moan was from desire.

In the second it took me to contemplate his moan, he had reached the edge of the tub and grabbed my arm. Once again, I screamed, and I wanted to pull away, hit him, do something, but I really didn't want to touch his obviously decaying body. He started bending toward me, his mouth open, moaning and grunting again, aiming for my shoulder, and just as his mouth came close enough to drip some of the blood onto my shirt, my body remembered that it knew how to move. I felt myself moving down the tile and hunched down in the tub, a quick movement that threw the cannibal off-balance and slammed his face into the tile instead of me. I reached out, grabbed the plunger, and stood as quickly as I could, leaving the cannibal to play catch up. I braced myself in the small tub, the faucet digging into my left calf, and gripped the plunger tightly.

The cannibal straightened up, grunted, and turned toward me again. That's when I lifted the plunger and shoved the rounded end of the wooden handle through the empty eye socket and into its brain. It had made a squishing sound, and immediately the cannibal went limp. I pushed on the end of the plunger, and the cannibal fell back against the wall and slid down until it slouched on the floor, the plunger still sticking absurdly out of its eye. I stepped out of the tub, walked over the dead man's legs, left the bathroom, and closed the front door. I knew I probably couldn't stay in my apartment any longer. Not only was I out of food, but I also had a feeling that if one cannibal had broken into the building, there would probably be more.

So I decided to cook the pasta I had found in the cabinet, change into jeans and a tank top, grab my biggest bag and stuff it with clothes, retrieve the very useful plunger and the biggest kitchen knife I had, and climb down the fire escape.

Which, surprisingly, worked out great. There weren't any cannibals wandering around my apartment building, and, honestly, the entire street looked flat out abandoned. I threw both my clothing bag and purse over my shoulder (why did I bring my purse? I don't know. Force of habit?) and start toward the small bicycle shop that was just down the street from my apartment. Having a means of transportation that would make me faster than the cannibals but smaller than a car and didn't require fuel would be wonderful to have.

After ten minutes of slow and careful walking, I reached the bike shop but found that there weren't any bicycles outside on the sidewalk like there usually is. The front door was locked, and I couldn't find a rock large enough to break through the window. So I did what any desperate and rational person would do: I wrapped one of the shirts in my bag around my hand, wrist, and part of my arm, and punched the glass on the front door until it broke and I could reach in to un-do the lock.

Once I was inside, I closed and locked the door behind me (because the now glass-less door was going to keep the cannibals out, I was sure) and found that this wasn't just a bicycle shop. This place also sold sporting goods, and along the back wall, I could see sleeping bags on display and small tents meant to demonstrate the design of their larger counterparts that were still in boxes. As I started toward the back, I also realized that the store sold hiking paraphernalia, which meant not only back packs, but also clothing that was meant to protect the wearer not only from the elements but also from the thorn bushes and what not in the woods. Looking back, had I not been so arrogant, I would have emptied my clothing out on the floor and replaced it all with the hiking gear. I did at least change into a pair of hiking shoes, but they were just that—shoes. Not boots. Which is how I managed to lose one in the woods.

I grabbed a pack large enough for my clothes, new sleeping bag and tree hanging tent, as well as a some packs of ready to eat food and water purifying system designed for hiking. I figured this mess couldn't last for more than a week, so I wouldn't need more than my plain noodles and ten food packs. How wrong I was.

I woke up to a spectacular sunrise over head, the sounds of people moving around, and a stiff body from staying in the same position all night. I sheathed the knife in my hand, crawled out of the sleeping bag, and put my boots back on. As I was rolling up my sleeping bag, Carol and Lori walked past holding buckets and looking strained. Carol continued on, but Lori stopped and set down her bucket; I took a look, and it was full of water.

"There's a safe water well, just over there," She pointed beyond Daryl's tent and bike, and I could see a few small figures milling around a stone structure. "You'll need to get your own water, and feed yourself. There's plenty of buckets around here, and I'm sure you'll be fine." Lori went back to her bucket and hoisted it up. With a small nod, she continued on her way. I chewed my lip, wondering why her attitude, which seemed warm when she gave me the boots yesterday, was suddenly colder. I got my sleeping bag packed away and stood up. Shane didn't want me staying longer than it took to heal, Hershel seemed to think I was this group's problem, and Daryl hadn't yet made an appearance, and I couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. As I was leaning my pack against the closest tree, Dale approached.

"Good morning," He said almost cheerfully. I couldn't tell if he was sincere, but I hoped he was.

"Mornin'," I replied with a smile and turned to him.

"Sleep good?" He asked. He wanted something, I thought.

"All right. Met Shane. Is he always so…" I trailed off, unable to find the words.

"He's a character, all right. But I'd be careful around him; he hasn't been himself lately. Anyone tell you how to find the well?" Dale inquired while readjusting his hat. I nodded, then realized he wasn't paying attention to my movements.

"Yeah, Lori stopped over a few minutes ago. She also told me I'd have to find my own food, which, according to her, shouldn't be too hard."

Dale nodded and started past me in the direction of the well. "Well, Rick's over by the well, and I figure you should meet him."

I decided to follow.

When we reached the well, I saw Daryl there helping to show the young boy, Carl, something, while Rick seemed to be having a discussion with Shane that require a lot of hand gestures toward a run-down looking shed by the house. Dale cleared his throat and began preparing to retrieve water from the pump next to the well, almost as loudly as possible. Rick and Shane halted their conversation, and Shane glared toward me with his hands on his hips. His expression reminded me of a petulant child not getting their way and preparing to throw a tantrum. Rick slowly approached me, and I had time to take in his dark hair laced with minimal gray, and his scruff that was also dark and laced with lighter hair. He looked tired, worn down, and had a habit of resting his hands on his belt, which caused the holster holding the large gun attached to his hip to bounce off his arm.

"I'm Rick Grimes," He said after he approached and held out his hand. I shook his hand and introduced myself.

"Erin Slaught," I offered with a small smile. "Nice to meet you."

"You too, Erin. Listen, were you travelling with anyone named Randall?" He asked. Rick seemed to cut to the point like Shane, but unlike Shane, he didn't make me want to run off screaming. I shook my head.

"Like I told Shane last night, the people I was with were named Tracy, Derrick, and Bill. We got separated on the highway, and I've been wandering through those damn woods for almost a month." I stepped around Rick and started toward the old well spicket. There were buckets stacked near the well, which I was glad for. Rick followed after me.

"You told Shane last night?" He almost sounded angry, and I couldn't tell if it was directed at me or Shane.

"Uh-huh," I replied vaguely, and started to pry a bucket free from the stack. "He came over as I was about to go to sleep and asked if I knew a Randall, as well as to let me know that I was to move on from here as soon as my limp was gone." I finally freed the bucket and began waiting patiently in the fresh sunlight for Dale to finish filling his bucket. I wanted to offer to carry it for him, but he seemed perfectly capable of handling the load.

"We'll worry about whether or not you need to leave later," Rick sighed. "You know how to shoot?"

I almost dropped my bucket. "What, like a gun? Shoot a gun?" I asked stupidly. No one in my family believed in owning guns; they always said there was no point. I never had an occasion to disagree. Rick let out a chuckle.

"I take it you've never held a gun in your life. Well, you're going to need to learn how to shoot, but I have an errand to run with Shane. I'll see if Dale or Glen can show you later today."

"I can teach her," Offered a nearly ready to crack voice. I turned, and Carl and Daryl were standing beside me. I hadn't realized that they approached us. Rick placed a hand on Carl's shoulder.

"I appreciate that Carl, but I think she needs to learn from someone the same height as her, no offense. And speaking of lessons, aren't you late for yours?"

Carl looked at the ground, muttered something, then ran off in the direction of the tents. Rick watched after him, then turned to Daryl.

"You think you can handle the group as well as show Erin here how to shoot?" He asked carefully. My eyes narrowed slightly, and I wondered if maybe Daryl was just as dangerous as Shane was. Before my thoughts could go further, Daryl nodded, Rick thanked him, and then walked off toward where Shane was waiting. Daryl turned toward me.

"Meet me back here this afternoon. If you've never shot a gun before, we have a lot of ground to cover." He growled and wandered off, leaving me to retrieve the water and wonder what the hell Shane and Rick were running toward the shed then off the farm for.


	3. Chapter 3

Three: Gun Range

As soon as I determined the sun was in its noon position, I headed toward the well-water pump. It didn't take long for me to figure out that these weren't going to be one-on-one lessons; Carol was walking in-step beside me when I got half-way to my destination.

"It's a beautiful day out," I said as a means to start a conversation. One glance made me suspect that she had something on her mind, and that she wanted to talk about it. I figured starting the conversation might make it easier for her.

"Yes, it is," she agreed while glancing up at the sky. "Not hot or cold, almost perfect." Her voice was quiet, soft. This woman, whoever she was, had been used to having to keep her mouth closed. We reached the water pump, and she still wasn't bringing up what she wanted to talk about.

"So, Carol," I said while tucking my hands into my pant pockets. "What's up?" It was lame, but at least it told her that I knew she needed to say something. Carol looked at me carefully, as though she was regretting following me here.

"I just wanted to say…I know Shane and Rick haven't exactly given you a warm welcome, but the entire group isn't like that. Some of us are glad that you showed up, and reminded us that there are still normal people around." She spoke slowly at first, then started going faster as though she was unsure and decided that she should just get the words out and over with. I nodded.

"I understand. Rick, Lori, Daryl, you, and a few others aren't that bad. It's Shane that I'm worried about, along with Andrea and Hershel. Out of the three of them, Shane seems the worst; Andrea just seems like she agrees with him. Hershel though…this is his land, but the first peace I've had in a while. I don't want to have to leave." I offered. I suddenly felt like someone needed to know how I was feeling about this place, even if I had been here less than a day. Having an almost permanent place to lay, even if it was on the ground exposed to the elements, was better than climbing up a tree and trying to sleep on a branch, especially since I had lost my tree tent a few months ago.

"It's the same feeling we all have. We've been together basically since the beginning, and we all know each other pretty well. Shane seems to be having problems, but he'll get over it. Rick, at least, is working with Hershel to make sure that we get to stay," she sighed. "But it's all up in the air still. We just…we need to be careful of who we invite into the group and who we tell to move on, that's all."

"Who needs to move on?" Came Daryl's southern drawl from behind me. Since I was concentrating completely on Carol and I hadn't heard him approach, I jumped, startled, and I was pretty sure my feet left the ground. Carol smiled in my direction, and I couldn't tell if she was smiling at my jump, Daryl, or both. "Hey Carol, didn't know you were considering shooting lessons." He continued walking past me, and I noticed that even though he had a gun and a knife strapped to his hips, his crossbow was slung over his shoulder.

"Oh, no. Ed taught me how to shoot a long time ago. I haven't done it in a while, but I remember the concept." Carol gave Daryl an extension of the small smile she had when he first walked up, and I was pretty sure then she had at least some sort of feelings for him.

"Well, all right. I need to take Erin to where Rick and Shane set up the shooting range a couple months ago, so if anyone needs anything, that's where we'll be." Daryl told her softly, then started walking off. I took that as my clue that I should be following him. After a beat, when she was sure Daryl was far enough away, Carol touched my arm softly.

"He's a good man," she whispered to me mysteriously, then headed off in the direction of the house. By the time I caught up to Daryl, my brow was no longer furrowed and he was on the edge of the woods. The large house resembled a small dollhouse more than an actual house when I turned to look at it. The distance didn't stop me from being able to see that someone was shouting at another person from the porch.

"You think they need us?" I asked Daryl uncertainly. Rick had asked him to keep an eye on things, after all. Daryl shook his head.

"Nah. They need either of us, they'll know where to find us." He reassured me, then turned and started on the path through the woods, with me following behind him slowly.

After about a fifteen minutes on the trail, we finally reached an opening in the woods, and I caught sight of a dirt road with an old wooden fence beside it that curved back into the trees. Apparently, Hershel was very serious about marking his property line. There were tin cans with holes littered around the fence, which Daryl had begun picking up and placing on the posts. When he finished, he stood in a spot about 45 feet away, directly lined up with the center post. He looked over at me.

"You gonna practice shooting or stand there all day?"

I nodded once and walked over to him, wondering if he was likely to get pissed off and shoot me. I figured with the attitude he's had, it would be possible. When I stood next to him, he took a step back, grabbed my shoulders, and spun me around to face the target.

"All right," he said and carefully pulled his gun out. "The basics of holding the gun are like this," He lifted the gun and let me get a good long look at his right hand; his fingers were curled around the handle tightly, his index finger not on the trigger, but flat against the part where the barrel of the gun met the handle. After a moment, he then lifted his left hand and closed it over his right. He saw my puzzled face and almost laughed.

"I thought one hand was meant to hold the gun, and the other was supposed to go, uhm, underneath or something?" I asked, wondering if I sounded like an idiot. At this, he did let out a small laugh.

"That's what they call 'the teacup' hold, and it only works in movies. If you hold it like that, you're going to get a hell of a kick-back and a bruise to go with it. Holding it so that your dominant hand is wrapped around the gun, and your other hand is wrapped over your dominant, gives you a better chance of controlling the kick-back." Daryl showed me the hold again, then handed the gun over to me. The weapon was heavy, and I frowned at it in my hands.

"It takes some getting used to," he conceded. "Just try the hold I showed you."

I imitated his hold and lifted the gun, only to see him almost trip in his haste to move out of the way of barrel.

"What's wrong?" I asked lowering the gun and looking behind me, thinking he saw a cannibal. Daryl reached over and gently tugged the gun out of my hand.

"Never," He said slowly, "Point a gun towards someone unless you mean to shoot them."

"Sorry," I apologized, looking in his eyes to make sure he knew I was sincere.

"S'all right," Daryl mumbled and looked at the dirt. Okay, no eye contact. Duly noted. "Now, when it comes to aiming, it's pretty simple. Just hold the gun up, and line up the sights. Like this." He demonstrated briefly, then handed the gun over. Very carefully I grabbed the weapon, and lifted it to point the barrel at the tin can in front of me, being cautious to not point it at Daryl again.

"Uh…Daryl? Where are the sights you were talking about..?" I asked after a moment of not being able to find not only the sights, but also what part of the can the gun was pointed at. I could have been aiming at the clouds for all I knew.

"Okay," he said, moving closer to me. "Maybe we should have gone over the anatomy of the gun, first."

I let my arms drop and pointed the gun at the ground, then looked up at his face. Which was closer than I expected. I took a small step back to put a little distance between us, but he just stepped closer.

"Here," He said while grabbing the wrist of my left hand and gently forcing me to raise the gun again. I tucked my right hand over my left while he stepped behind me. Very slowly, he reached around and placed his hands over my wrists.

"You've got the hold right. But you need to aim now. Do you see the three small rectangles on top of the barrel?" He asked. I frowned, then remembered he couldn't see my face.

"Not really…" I trailed off, feeling immensely stupid. He let go of my right wrist and indicated with his index finger two rectangles close to the butt of the gun.

"On this model, a Browning BDA, there's three pieces that form one sight. These two here," He pressed down on the two triangles closest to my face, "are meant to help you center this one, here." He moved his hand to the front of the gun and pressed down on the single rectangle that had an orange dot in the center. "When you're looking just right, you can line up the front sight with the rear sights, and predict where the bullet's gonna go. You got it?"

I squinted into the rear sight, trying to find the front sight he had indicated. I wished he hadn't put his hand back on my wrist; I needed his finger to help me figure out where the front sight was again.

"Sort of," I said slowly. I felt like if I didn't get this soon, he was going to abandon all hope.

"Okay," he said while shifting his position behind me and sliding his hands over mine. "I want you to hold the gun steady, and very slowly move your head around until you can find the sights. Remember to try and keep both eyes open."

I did as instructed, and after about five more minutes of moving around, I finally lined the sights up. "I got it!" I exclaimed, and probably would have jumped for joy if Daryl wasn't still pressed against me, holding my hands in place.

"Good. I'm letting go of your hands, and I want you to aim at the center if the can in front of you." He did as he promised, and I began attempting to aim once more. After a long minute, I felt that I finally managed it.

"All right," I almost whispered.

"Great. Now when I say so, I want you to squeeze the trigger, very gently. Don't pull it; if you pull it, you'll throw your aim off and end up hitting lower than you wanted. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Fine. Now squeeze."

I did as instructed, and managed to knock the can off the post.

I had been riding on the bike for about an two hours on highway 264 with every intention of traveling back toward my hometown in Illinois when I managed to run something over that blew the rear tire on the bike. I fucking _knew_ that I should have grabbed a patching kit and portable pump. But of course, I had to grab the giant jacket that I would probably have no use for and only grabbed because it was atrociously expensive, and rather pleasant to look at (_please_, don't act like I'm the only one who would do such a thing) instead. So, I now had the pleasure of standing on the highway, in the south, at the end of May, trying to figure out the seven different straps on my new pack, with no means of transportation other than my own two feet.

And, again, I found myself cursing my lack of preparation skills, because I had a water purification kit, but no water. And my throat was beginning to feel very, very dry. The only thing I could think to do was begin walking the direction I was heading, and keep a look out for any potential signs of human life or just a sign of civilization. Most of the houses along 264 were set back from the road, which in my mind meant that the inhabitant was well-stocked in things such as bottled water. I figured that anyone who pays a crap load of property tax was likely to have enough money to keep at least a case or two of water bottles in the garage.

It was just too bad I didn't see any houses. Nothing but trees and the beginnings of corn crops. Not very promising. After a mile or two of walking, I finally came upon a sign of life: an abandoned white car.

With the keys in the ignition.

…and some blood on the seats. Ick.

But it was better than nothing. After a quick search of the back seat and trunk, I managed to find not only eight bottles of water, but also some assorted canned foods, various clothing (all in men's styles and sizes), and a single towel that was covered in grease stains and had definitely seen better days. I tossed my pack into the back seat, arranged the towel over the blood stains, climbed in, and turned the key.

Which didn't do a damn thing other than make a clicking sound. I tried again. And again. And again. Finally, I looked at the gauges. The car was out of gas. Completely useless to me, unless I intended on pushing it down the road. Grumbling a few swear words to myself (mostly fuck and its various forms) I retrieved my pack, shoved the eight water bottles I found into any space in the pack that I could find, figured out the straps, and once again continued to walk down the highway. After half an hour of walking, my back was letting me know that it was not pleased by the added weight of the pack. I hadn't seen a car since the abandoned white one, and I was pretty sure that I reached the point where people stopped buying land and putting houses this far from town. What was really bothering me though was the lack of cars. This wasn't the main road to and from town, but it did connect to interstate 95. Maybe I was the only one stupid enough to leave the comfort and relative protection of home. Maybe everyone else had succumbed to the cannibals and I was the last person left alive.

All right, thoughts like that were not only impossible, but also not anywhere useful. I looked at the watch that I had stolen from the bike shop, and realized that the sun was setting soon. I needed to find some trees and get my tent set up. Mostly because, _of course_ I forgot to grab a flashlight or two.

"How much longer are we going to do this for?" I asked while picking up another can and placing back onto the fence post.

"Until you manage to hit the can and not the fence," Daryl replied while re-loading the magazine. "We've been at this for about three hours, and you keep hitting that damn post." He slipped the magazine into its slot and pulled back the barrel to ensure there was bullet in the chamber, then handed the weapon over to me.

"I've got the general concept, at least. And you have to admit," I said while aiming the gun at the center of the can. "It's pretty impressive that I can hit the same spot on the post more than once."

"It would if you were actually aiming for the post." He half-conceded. In the time we had spent on shooting lessons, I learned that not only was Daryl a good hunter, which consequently made him a good shot with just about every weapon he touched, he also had a brother, Merle, that had disappeared in Atlanta, and Daryl was planning on leaving the group soon to go find him. I also learned that he agreed with me in the idea that Shane was unbalanced, but also thought that he was taking people like Andrea down with him.

"All right, I gotta stop. My knee is killing me," I told him after the taking the third shot with the newly re-loaded clip. I had been standing with my legs open, the left slightly in front of the right, in an effort to reduce the amount of weight on my bad knee. Instead of reducing the weight, though, I had only found that the weight as distributed equally, and that Daryl was impressed with my strong stance.

"What'd you do to you knee, anyway?" He asked while putting the gun back in its holster.

"When I hoped over the fence yesterday, I managed to land wrong. My knee went down hard on a can of food at the bottom of my pack." I had had my weight on the knee for so long that I was actively limping as we walked through the woods. I should probably have Hershel look at it when we get back to the house.

"From the amount of scrapes and bruises you have, it sounds like you're pretty damn clumsy," He said while continuing down the narrow dirt path in front of me. While he walked he always seemed to have some sort of weapon within easy reach. On the way to the range, it was his crossbow; right now, his hand was resting on the hilt of a knife that was half the length of his thigh.

"Yeah, I have no idea how I managed to survive the cannibals this long. I can't seem to walk more than a mile without getting attacked or stuck in some sort of bush." I rolled my eyes at my own attempt at truthful humor.

"Cannibals? You call 'em cannibals?" He half turned to ask me.

"Yeah. Why? What do you call them?"

"Walkers. Me and the group call 'em walkers."

"Oh. Why?" What the hell does a walking have to do with what the people were actually doing?

"You know, I'm not sure. Originally we just called 'em geeks, then Rick came along and we started calling 'em walkers like he did."

We continued the rest of the route to his tent in silence, and when we finally reached it I wanted to kick myself for moving the pack from right by the fire pit to directly underneath the nearest tree. While the thirty or so feet hadn't been so far this morning, this afternoon it may as well have been a mile away or further. Very slowly I limped over to the pack, strapped it on, then limped my way back.

"What are you planning on doing for food?" He asked while starting a new fire in the pit.

"I'm not sure," I said while dropping the pack and sinking to the ground beside it. I was pretty sure that I wouldn't be moving my knee for the rest of the day. "Lori said I needed to find my own, so I'm either going to have to learn to hunt, start begging people, or move on whether my knee is healed or not." I dug a can of creamed corn out of the bottom of the bag, letting my sleeping bag and random clothes stay on the ground instead of shoving them back into the pack.

"You ain't gonna starve," he reassured me while he began cleaning the two squirrels that he had pulled down from a line that was strung from his tent to the tree the tent was under. "And you sure as hell ain't leavin' while you still got a limp."

"I appreciate your sentiment," I told him while opening the canned vegetable, "But if I keep eating with you, the squirrel population around here will dwindle away to nothing."

"Nah, it'll be fine." He set the newly skinned and (thankfully) gutted squirrels over the fire, using the same sticks he had used last night as the spit. I smiled at him once I could stop concentrating on the can, and found myself feeling pretty happy when he smiled back.


	4. Chapter 4

Four: A Memory

"Erin, you need to stay off your feet for a while." Hershel told me after examining my swollen and bruised knee. I was laying on Daryl's elevated camping cot, and could see the beginnings of the sunset through the hole that the open tent door left. I probably shouldn't have stood for three hours straight earlier.

"I'll be okay, right?" I asked while looking down at it. My knee was swollen to the point that I couldn't tell it was a knee. The pain was also three times worse without the bandage on. Hershel rolled my leg a little, getting a better look at the knee.

"You should be. I still don't think you broke any of the bones, but you may have bruised a bone, which I'm told is very painful." He explained and began re-wrapping my leg.

"How long do I have stay immobile for?" I finally asked as he made sure the bandage was going to stay on.

"Oh, two or three days. Long enough to get the swelling down," He stood as much as he could in the small tent, gave me a reassuring look, and stepped out. I watched as Daryl's shadow approached him.

"No more shooting lessons until she's healed, and try to keep her from walking too far. No running, either." I heard Hershel tell Daryl. His shadow nodded, and after a peek into the tent to make sure I was still lying on his cot, he went back to tending the fire and slow cooking squirrels. Hershel's shadow walked away, and after about five minutes I heard a small group of people approach.

"What's all that?" Daryl asked the new comers.

"Just some stuff we thought Erin might need. Hershel told us she needed rest, and we figured we could help make her more comfortable." Carol's soft voice wafted into the tent, carried along by a light but chilling breeze. Without waiting for a response, Lori came in with a few bottles of water and a pillow tucked in her arms. Very slowly she deposited the bottles onto the floor of the tent and fluffed the pillow.

"Here, sit up." She instructed, and I did as told. She put the pillow where my head had been, and sighed softly. "I know what I said to you earlier, and I just wanted to clarify that it's nothing against you. We aren't used to new comers, and some bad things had happened just before you showed up. Rick's still working on getting Hershel to let us all stay, and when that happens, I'm sure you can stay, too."

I stared at Lori, dumbfounded, until she patted me on the shoulder then backed out of the tent. Before I could formulate a thank you or any other thought, Glen came in carrying a paperback book.

"I know how boring it can be when you're stuck in bed. I asked Dale for a book for you, and he thought you would enjoy this." Glen handed me the novel and I got a look at the cover. It was a Stephen King novel. I couldn't help but laugh, then laugh even harder at Glen's confused expression. I held up the novel in explanation.

"I don't get it." He said, still confused.

"It's _The Stand_," I explained when the laughter finally died down. "A novel about the end of the world, being read during the end of the world." I laughed again.

"Oh." Glen let out a weary laugh. "Glad you like it." He backed out of the tent, and now it seemed to be Carol's turn. She entered with a smile, that grew larger when she saw me still smiling at the book in my hands.

"I brought a few blankets," She said while setting them beside the cot. "Daryl said it gets cold in here, away from the fire."

"Thanks, Carol." I said while still smiling.

"You're welcome," she replied and started to exit.

"Carol?" I waited until she turned back around. "Can you tell Dale and Lori thank you, too? I couldn't seem to find the words before." She nodded and left the tent. I laid back onto the pillow beneath my head and began flipping through the novel, debating on whether or not I wanted to read it.

Half an hour later, Daryl entered the tent holding a fully cooked squirrel and half a can of creamed corn.

"I was pretty hungry, so I ate my half before bringing this in," he sounded apologetic.

"That's fine, I understand." I marked my place in the book, sat up, and held my hands out for the food. He passed the food over, and I took a bite of squirrel first. I wanted to moan with how good it was; I didn't know if he did something new to the squirrel, or if it was just because I hadn't eaten since this morning, but the squirrel I was chewing my mouth was the best thing I had eaten in my entire life.

"So no moving for three days?" He asked while sitting down with his back to the door and watching me eat. I shook my head and swallowed.

"That's what Hershel says. Can you hand me some water?" I asked, and watched as he nodded, grabbed a water bottle, and handed it to me. I opened the bottle, took a swig, then set it on the ground beside the cot. I wanted to swing my legs over the edge of the cot, to slide down on the floor, or just shift myself and sit in a different position, but of course, I wasn't allowed to.

"So the group you were with. How'd you get separated from them?" Daryl questioned while I took another bite of the squirrel. I chewed slowly and swallowed, wondering how much I should tell him. Finally I decided on the short version.

"We were moving slowly down a road marked at Highway 314, trying to find our way to the Florida coast, when a huge amount of cannibals moved through. The guys basically panicked and started running, and Tracy, the only other girl, decided to climb onto the roof of a utility truck. By the time I realized that I should move, go, do _something_, the pack was within arm's reach of me. I hopped over the guard rail and sprinted into the woods. Since then I've been wandering through the woods, killing any cannibals that I came across and trying to reserve food while I traveled. After what felt like forever I reached the tree line, and now here I am." I told him lamely. I could tell from the look on his face that he knew parts of my story were changed or completely omitted. I wasn't sure if I cared, though. I'd been with these people less than a day, and I had been with my old group—my friends—for a good five months.

The day I had met Tracy, Bill, and Derrick, I had been on my own for a month, and staying in a secluded part of Wilson, North Carolina. During that time, I didn't see anyone else, though I did manage to pick up the knife I carried to this day, as well as perfected my cannibal killing, thanks to the ones I came across. I was killing them at a rate of two to four a day, depending on how long I was away from my shelter and how far I traveled.

Tracy was sweet; I remember being surprised that she had survived for so long. She was short, skinny, surprisingly clean, and had black hair that she wore lose to her waist. She didn't carry a weapon that I could see, but she did have an empty back pack. I watched from behind a car as she picked a lock and darted into a grocery store, careful to close the door behind her.

She came out almost ten minutes later, with a few blood splatters across her face and an almost full back pack. As she moved down the middle of the street, I slowly followed her from the sidewalk, wondering how far away she was staying and if there were more people. At some point, I'm not exactly sure when, she realized she was being followed. I watched as her body language changed from carefree cannibal killer to suspicious cannibal killer, and almost instantly worried for my life. She killed at least one cannibal inside the store, and I still couldn't see where her weapon was stored.

I flattened myself onto the ground behind the nearest car, hoping she didn't glimpse me watching her and decide that even though I was still normal, I would be better off dead. When I moved into a crouching position and peeked around the trunk of the car in order to see if she moved on or not, I was startled by a pair of clear green eyes on the same level as mine. It took me a moment to register the snarl on her face, but when I did, I just about flew backward and onto the sidewalk, the car was parked next to. In the moment it took me to move, she leaped forward and placed her feet on either side of me, and knelt down in front of my face, holding a switchblade to my cheek. The cargo pants she was wearing explained how she managed to hide the blade.

"Who are you?" She demanded. The cold blade was pressing into my cheek, but not hard enough to cut through my skin.

"Erin," I stammered. "I'm sorry I followed you, but I haven't seen anyone else that was human since this crap started!"

She seemed to accept my name and apology, because in one movement she put the blade back into her pocket, stood up straight, and offered her hand to help me up.

"I'm Tracy. Sorry for pulling the knife on you, but you can never be too careful. Especially with the way the world is now." I took her hand, she pulled, and in a second I was on my feet and brushing any dirt and debris off my pants. "You're out without any supplies," she observed. "Are you staying somewhere near here?"

I nodded and checked my knife to make sure that not only I still had it, but also that the sheath was still attached to the belt. "I'm actually staying in one of the houses just on the outskirts of town. It was abandoned when I got there." I elaborated. I didn't bother telling her that it was one of the few two level houses I had found, and that I managed to board up not the windows on the first floor, but the top of the staircase on the second and still had access to electricity.

"We're staying in an abandoned house, too." She told me and started walking off. She didn't give an argument when I followed her.

Half an hour of walking with basic but friendly conversation later, we were walking up the front steps of a small, one level house surrounded with un-kept shrubbery. Instead of walking to the front door as I thought she would, Tracy led the way around to the side of the house, where there were two windows, only one of which was boarded close. She gave three sharp taps on the glass of the exposed window and checked around the general area. I assumed she was checking for cannibals.

After a beat, the window opened and a man with short dirty blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and newly grown beard silently handed Tracy a milk crate, all the while staring at me. Tracy set the crate on ground, removed her back pack and handed it to the boy, then stepped up onto the crate, grabbed the window ledge and hoisted herself inside. She leaned back out the window and looked at me.

"Can you get in without the crate?" She asked.

"I don't know, let me see." I picked up the crate and handed it to her, then placed my hands on the window sill and attempted to lift myself inside as she did. I got about a quarter of the way in, my ribs resting painfully on the sill, when I got stuck.

"Shit—Derrick!" Tracy called while I wiggled about, trying to figure out how to either get in or get down without hurting myself. A second later the blonde man was back, and without so much as a hello, he tucked his hands under my arm pits, gripped me tight, and tugged me inside the house.

The momentum of Derrick's pull on my body combined with my not knowing what was going on and therefore not being prepared to use my legs so quickly knocked both of us onto the floor. I heard the window close behind me, and assumed we were safe inside. Before I could do more than roll off of Derrick and onto the floor, the only source of light coming in was blocked out by a large rectangle that was being balanced on the window sill. In the minute it took me to stand up and dust myself off, there was light coming from a corner of the room, and I took a good look around.

The house seemed be just one big room, with basic frame work that was either stopped before completion or stopped before it was finished being torn out showing the size the rooms were meant to be. The light, which turned out to be coming from a basic camping lantern, was balanced on a small counter top with a built in sink, suggesting that was where the kitchen was. Along the wall closest to the counter were a series of three camping cots, two of which were pushed close together so that they resembled a double bed.

"Where's Bill?" Tracy asked while removing the contents of her bag onto the counter. I noticed an abundance of canned goods, two gallons of water, and a few boxes of aspirin, band-aids, and other first aid equipment. Derrick looked unconcerned and moved to sit down on the single cot.

"He said he was going to find you, because you were taking so long to get back." Derek explained, then reached over and grabbed a can of food off of the counter and examined it. "Ugh, Tracy, why'd you grab dented cans?"

"It was all they had," she told him and snatched the can out of his hand. "And don't be rude, introduce yourself." She waved a hand in my general direction, and I was starting to feel like I should be on guard.

"Right, sorry." Derrick looked at me. "I'm Derrick." He offered then went back to examining the cans.

"Erin," I said in response. I didn't know what else to do, so I sat back down on the floor, in the middle of the room. Tracy spun around to look at both of us and leaned against the counter.

"Derrick, you're being a dick." Tracy rolled her eyes, and I suddenly became more comfortable with being in the house with these strangers.

"Sorry," Derrick apologized and set the can of food down.

"It's fine. Uhm…Tracy was telling me you guys have been together since the beginning of this mess?" I asked in an attempt to make a conversation. Derrick nodded and Tracy began putting the cans in the cabinet above the sink.

"Yeah, her boyfriend, Bill, and I are good friends. We were sharing an apartment, and when we figured out what was going on, he figured we should pick up Tracy and get out of town, head to a place where this wasn't happening." He explained. I nodded.

"Where did you leave from? And where do you guys think that 'safe place' is?" I held my hands up and did the terrible air quotes as I said 'safe place'. I wanted to believe there was such a place, but at the same time, with what I saw every day on my food runs, I knew that was nothing but a dream.

"We left from Mechanicsville, Virginia, and decided to take I-95 out of town and down to the southern tip of Florida. We figure if we can get out onto one of the islands, it'll be untouched and safe." He took the can of food that Tracy offered him. "Tracy, I hate green beans."

"Just eat it," she snapped, then handed a can of corn to me.

"Thanks," I said and started digging into the food. She nodded, then laid out on one of the double cots and began flipping through a magazine. I directed my attention back to Derrick. "So why stop here, in Wilson?"

"Convenience," he said through a mouthful of beans. "We've been travelling for a while, and just got sick of walking. We've been here, what, a week?" He directed the question toward Tracy, who made a non-committal noise. "Anyway. You from around here?"

I shook my head. "No. I was going to college over in Greenville, working on a Bachelor's in education. I dropped out almost a year ago and was working as a secretary when this started. I stayed holed up for three or so days in my apartment, then one of the cannibals got in, and I figured I'd better leave. I was headed back to Chicago, where my parents are, but miss-judged not only how long it would take to get there, but how I would get there. This was supposed to be just a stop-over for me, too, but I've been here for around a month now." I finished the last of my corn, stood and moved to place the can on the counter.

Just as the tin connected with the formica, a loud banging sounded from the window with the table over it.

I jumped and let out a little squeak, and Derrick turned off the lantern. I lost sight of Tracy for a moment, but found her again when light from the window flooded the room. Standing outside of the window was a man with flaming red hair and a beard to match, with a big cut on his cheek that was still bleeding. Tracy threw open the window, and reached to grab the crate, but a deep, harsh voice saying 'No' stopped her.

"Why not?" She asked the man who must have been Bill.

"I'm being chased, they know we're here, we have to go _now_." He explained. There was a sudden amount of movement around me. Derrick was shoving the gallons of water into Tracy's back pack, then tossed the canned goods from the cabinet on top. He grabbed the lantern off the counter and was over to the window before I had time to process what Bill had said.

Tracy looked at me. "Where are you staying?" She asked quickly. Derrick was already out the window, and Bill was holding his arms out in order to grab Tracy.

"I can't get us there from here, but if you lead me back the store we were at, I can get us the rest of the way." I moved to stand directly in front of Tracy.

"Good, now let's go." And with that, she was leading the way out the window.

Lightening started flashing overhead, closely followed by the sound of the rolling thunder. It wouldn't be long before rain started pattering onto the ground and tent.

"Hey, it's starting to rain," Daryl said while dragging my sleeping bag and pack into the tent. "I need to sleep in here tonight." He tucked my pack under the cot and began rolling out my sleeping bag, being careful not to step on it. I watched as he worked, listening to the rain hitting the tent and feeling terrible that he was stuck on the ground in my makeshift bed instead of in his own makeshift bed.

"I'm sorry your stuck on the ground," I offered the apology while he worked to remove his boots. "I can move from here and sleep there if you'd prefer; I'm sure I can keep my knee straight in the process."

Daryl shook his head and tucked into the sleeping bag. "Nah, I'm fine here. 'Night."

"Hey, Daryl? How water proof is this tent?" In the few minutes since he had entered the tent, the rain had started coming down harder.

"Water proof enough, now get some sleep." And with that he turned over onto his right side, facing the entrance to the tent, and laid still.

When I woke the next morning, I found that there was a second blanket covering me, and a new unopened bottle of water on the ground next to a plate of still warm chicken eggs.


	5. Chapter 5

Five: Dinner

Daryl helped me down from the chestnut brown horse named Nelly, and I tried to not think about how it felt to have his hands grasping my hips as he helped lower me to the ground, or how his breath tickled my neck when he leaned closer to steady me. I had been resting my knee for the past four days, and finally this morning Hershel had come to the tent to check on me. By then Daryl and I had worked out a schedule for when he would carry me to the bathroom, feed me, and just generally keep me company.

In the four days we were together, I had learned that Merle was the last family Daryl had; when he was seven, his mom had died in a house fire, and when he was fourteen, his dad had left and never came back. He had not seen his grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, or anyone else related to him since his mother died, which made her death even worse for him. Not only that, but something in his already alcoholic father had broken, and that was when the abuse started. At first it was just Merle; whenever something went wrong, it was Merle's fault, no matter what it was. The car broke down? Merle's fault. The electricity bill wasn't paid on time? Merle.

Until one day, Merle was arrested. Then it was Daryl. He was almost nine when his father started beating him, and when his dad finally took off, Daryl was left feeling guilty. He explained that he felt like his dad leaving was his fault, that he wasn't a good enough son, that he should have worked harder, left school sooner so he could bring in more money, not talked back, not tried to get his dad 'away from the bottle', not made snide remarks about the women his father brought home.

He didn't revel in his new freedom in the way that one would expect. Instead of living differently and doing things that would make him happy, he ignored it all. He continued behaving as though his father was there; cleaning, cooking, moving silently through the house like a ghost so that the beast in the double bed upstairs wouldn't wake up. Flinching at the smallest sound, expecting his father's hand, boot, or belt to make contact with his skin and leave a bruise, a scar, a blood trail running down his back, his chest, his calves, his mouth.

The only abuse he didn't experience was sexual, which was all he could be thankful for, because when Merle came home from jail and found Daryl on his own, the physical abuse stopped but the mental abuse got to the point that Daryl would lash out violently at anyone who said his name. By the time he and Merle found the group, he was following Merle around like a puppy afraid of its owner but still wanting love. I couldn't help but be disgusted, and asked why he wanted to find Merle after all the shit he had been through. His only response had been that he was family, and family stuck together.

After that he tried to shut down, to shut me out, but I needed to pee and he was the only one around who was willing to carry a stranger to the toilet. In the end, he was too gentle and kind to let me pee my pants and abandon me to lay in it. He wouldn't talk about his past again though, and it took me an entire day of babbling on about my perfect childhood and the dog my parents had gotten me for my birthday but got hit by a car a just a month later, followed with the death of my grandmother for him to open up again and give some sort of response to me.

We had gotten close, though. At some point over the four days, we were both finding ways to touch each other when he wasn't carrying me. Whether it was his hand resting a little too long over mine when he handed over my food, or taking turns brushing loose strands out hair out each other's faces. After a while, I stopped keeping my hands to myself when he picked me up and began placing one hand on his chest while the other hand gripped his shoulder. Eventually he began moving slower when he picked me up- not like he was in pain, but like he was considering finding new places to put his hands that wouldn't be a violation but would also let him touch different places.

I eased myself onto the ground near the campfire, Hershel's advice to be gentle to my knee and not strain it too much still ringing in my ears. After spending four hours on shooting lessons, I decided that sitting wouldn't be so bad. My knee only hurt a little, but I didn't want to aggravate it; I stretched out my legs and leaned back on my hands, enjoying the gentle cool breeze blowing over my arms, neck and face. It had been a while since I felt this comfortable. I watched as Daryl led Nelly back to the stables, and was mildly surprised when Rick approached him, had a brief conversation, then wandered over to me. He knelt beside me, and began picking at the grass.

"Erin," He said, and I shifted all of my attention to him. "I know you've been here for close to a week now, and we haven't been very friendly." I nodded in agreement, wondering where the hell he was going with this.

"But tonight Hershel invited us to the house for dinner, and we're hoping that the invite means he's going to allow us to stay here, with his family, for as long as we can or need to."

"That's great, Rick," I shifted my sitting position and rubbed the dust from my hands. "But I have no idea about what that has to do with me."

"Well, we'd like to extend Hershel's invitation to you. You've been here for long enough that I think we need to get to know you better, and find out if you're planning on staying." He explained. I nodded, then bit my bottom lip a little.

"I don't know if I'm planning on staying or not. I don't think you've noticed, but Shane doesn't seem quite right, and he seems determined to take as many people down as possible. On top of that, there doesn't seem to be a lot of friendliness, not just towards me, but towards other people in the group, too. You're off with Shane all the time and when you're not with him you're with Hershel having heated conversations, Lori wanders around here constantly trying to find Carl, who seems to have completely stopped listening to you and her, Andrea inserts her opinion in places it isn't needed, Dale is keeping watch and trying to act like everyone's dad. This group you've got is quickly dissolving into individuals who can't stand being around one another. And that's just what I've been able to see from the few times I've been outside of the tent to either get air or get carried to the bathroom!

I mean, Christ Rick, look at Daryl. He'd be great at helping you, but you never ask, not since you told him to give me shooting lessons. Any time you need help, you run to Shane who seems to be getting more and more unstable. I know about the fight you guys got into when you ran that 'errand' a few days ago." Rick looked taken aback by the news, but didn't deny it. So I kept going.

"But despite all of the negative, there are good people here. Everyone, including Shane, is trying to do what they think is right. So what time should I be at the house for dinner?" Rick looked taken aback by the analysis I just gave him, and I started wondering if he regretted the decision to invite me.

"Daryl will let you know." He responded quickly, stood, and stalked off. I could judge from the position of his shoulders that he wasn't happy with me and my assessment of his wife, child, and group. I could understand why.

"Lead the way," Tracy said when we finally reached the store. We hadn't run, but it had been half an hour of fast passed walking and constantly looking over our shoulders to see if we were being followed by the cannibals. Nerves that high strung are bound to cause exhaustion. I nodded at Tracy and began walking down Pender Street, knowing the others were following. Around the time that we saw signs alerting us that Hines Street had turned into Nash Street East, Derrick began walking beside me instead of following.

"Why aren't we cutting through yards?" He asked. I glanced over at him and kept walking down the middle of the street.

"Because. If we cut through yards, we can get tripped up and injured. Never mind the fact that the cannibals would have an easier time sneaking up on us. Walking in the open like this gives us the upper hand." I had no idea if that was true, but it sounded right. I also didn't want to admit that in the month I had been staying at this house, it had never occurred to me to cut through the over-grown yards.

"Cannibals?" Tracy asked after hearing my explanation.

"The people that have been running around eating everyone." I told her.

"Oh. We've been calling them zombies." Bill informed me.

"Really?" I asked while kicking a small rock to the side of the road. "They didn't fit the description of a zombie to me."

"What do you mean?" Derrick asked.

"Well," I sighed and adjusted the pack they had given me to carry. We each had a pack to carry, so it wasn't like they were forcing me to carry their stuff on my own. "Zombie is a Haitian word, right? And the first zombie anyone has a record of is a man whose family thought he was dead, but a few years after his burial he wandered back into town. It turned out someone gave him a drug that made his body present as dead, but was really just a light coma; the people who drugged him dug him up and made him work on their farm. So really, zombie is just someone who was drugged and had their free-will taken away, when you think about it. As far as I know, none of the people who suffered that broke free of their captors and ran around eating people."

"So zombie doesn't fit," Derrick said.

"Nope." I replied somewhat lamely.

"How do you know all of that?" Tracy asked after a few minutes of silence.

"A website called cracked dot com," I told her. "They have—well, had, I guess—all kinds of different articles on different things, and one that I read a few months ago before people started going crazy had to do with zombies."

"Oh," she said. "Did the site offer any explanations for a possible zom—er—cannibal outbreak?"

"Not that I remember. I wasn't on the site that often; I just read articles that my old college roommate said were interesting."

Twenty minutes later and I was leading the way up the long driveway that belonged to the massive colonial style house that had a plantation style front porch off Nash Street East. The house really was massive; there was an attached two car garage, two bathrooms on the first floor along with two living rooms, a dining room, a kitchen large enough to fit another dining table in it, and the second floor had four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and never mind the four car garage in the backyard.

"_This_ is where you're staying?" Tracy asked, sounding impressed.

"Yeah. I figured having two floors would be better than one." I said while walking around to the back of the house, where a ladder was lying in the overgrown lawn.

"This place is huge." Derrick commented while helping me to lean the ladder under the only open second floor window.

"I know," I said while taking off my pack. "I'm going to go up first, then send a bucket down for our stuff." I climbed through the open window at the top of the ladder and began lowering the 50 gallon bucket that I had attached a rope to down slowly, making sure that the that the bucket wouldn't break when it hit the ground. I didn't have to worry about the rope rubbing against the brick window ledge because I had wrapped a t-shirt in duct tape found in the garage around the ledge in order to give it a soft edge.

"One pack at a time, and take the gallons of water out of the one pack before sending it up. I've never brought up that much water at once and I have no idea how much weight this rope can take." I called down. I retreated into the bedroom in order to check the knot tied onto the bed frame. If I accidentally let go of the rope, at least I wouldn't have to climb down the ladder in order to retrieve it.

"Hey," Derrick called while climbing through the window. I jumped and smacked my head off the footboard of the bed.

"Ow!" I cried out, fell onto my butt, and immediately reached up to touch the now pained part of my skull.

"Shit, you okay?" Derrick asked while coming over to help me up.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." I said and walked to the window to look out.

"Tracy sent me up in case you needed someone to help pull the bucket up," Derrick informed me while grabbing the slack rope. "Let me know when they've got the first pack in."

"It's ready," I said, and slowly the bucket began rising. When it reached the window, I tugged the pack free and dropped it on the floor of the room. "Send the next one."

When the bucket touched the ground, Bill loaded in the first gallon of water, and that was when I realized there was a cannibal stumbling silently through the yard, focused on Tracy, who was watching me hanging out the window.

"We should go up to the house now," Daryl said while slinging his crossbow over his back.

"Do you really need that?" I asked him while carefully standing. He put a steadying hand around my waist and began leading me toward the house.

"You never know," He replied.

As we reached the stairs leading to the front porch, I was grateful that he hadn't let me go, and not just because I liked having his arm wrapped around me. I needed to lean against him, making him take some of my body weight in order to mount then climb the stairs. My knee was still just a little too stiff to do it on its own. As we reached the top step, the front door opened and out came Hershel closely followed by Maggie.

"How's the pain?" Hershel asked while taking the hand that wasn't clinging to Daryl for dear life.

"Not bad," I told him. "It's just a little stiff. I don't think I should have done so much today."

"What'd you do?" Maggie inquired while holding open the door for us.

"Rode a horse, had shooting practice, then sat around all day," I smiled at her, knowing that my activity for the day wasn't as rigorous as hers; not only did she have to watch for cannibals, she also had to perform regular farm duties.

"Sounds like a lot to me," She said with a smile and led the way to the table. Hershel held out a chair for me, while Daryl helped me sit down, then took the only other open seat, which was next to mine. I tried to not think about the Shane stared darkly at me first, then turned a hateful expression toward Daryl. To take my eyes away from Shane, I decided to focus on the food set out on the table. Someone had taken the time to prepare two large roasted chickens, mashed sweet potatoes, steamed vegetables, various kinds of fruit, and at least three pies.

"This looks delicious," I offered up to whoever cooked the meal. Lori, Maggie, Pam, and Beth each replied with a simultaneous thank you, and we started passing dishes to each other and loading our plates.

The dinner conversation was friendly and light, and I kept thinking that if there weren't cannibals running all over the place and threatening our lives, this could easily be a Thanksgiving dinner with friends.

"So how did you find your way here?" Hershel asked while I attempted to get a slice of peach pie out the pan.

"Well, I started off in Greenville, North Carolina. I was on my way back to my hometown of Chicago, when I stopped in Wilson for a while and joined a small group of three. We were together in Wilson for about two months before we decided to move south, to Florida." I took a bite of the pie and felt like I had died and gone to heaven. It was wonderful.

"Why Florida?" Andrea asked me after taking a bite of her own slice of peach pie. I shrugged.

"Bill figured that we could travel to the bottom of the state, find a boat and try to find places that weren't filled with cannibals. Tracy thought that if we couldn't find a boat to take us far, we could at least go out to the furthest inhabitable island and make our own paradise."

"Sounds reasonable. How did you end up here?" Carol asked. We had all finished our helpings of dinner and dessert now, and our plates were being passed down to Lori and Pam, who were dividing them from one stack to two.

"We stayed along Interstate 95 until Derrick suggested that we go through Atlanta to see if it remained un-touched. He figured it was big, had the CDC, and would be better protected. When we got there and saw how destroyed it was, we went south along 85. We ended up getting separated south of a small town called Senoia," Despite being here for almost a full week, I still didn't want to tell all of the details of how we got separated and I got lost. Not even Daryl knew the full story, and I doubted that I would tell him.

"How long were you with the other group?" Shane asked. It was the first time he said something all night.

"I'm not sure. It was mid-summer when I found them, and I had been on my own for a while before stumbling into this place." I said while yawning. I knew how long I had been with the three people I considered friends, and I was sure that I had told Shane. I had no idea what he was trying to suggest, and I wasn't going to volunteer any more information about myself, especially to Shane. I glanced at Daryl, but he was having a quiet conversation with Rick.

Shane nodded and stood, which seemed to be the cue for everyone else to stand and amble about, saying goodnight and thank you for the dinner. Just as I had hobbled alone to the door—Rick and Daryl's conversation seemed to be getting more intense, and now involved Hershel, and Shane who instead of leaving was standing over Rick's shoulder—Lori approached me while Carl dashed out the door.

"You need help getting down the stairs?" She offered gently while watching as I carefully stepped down onto the first stair.

"No, I think I've got it. Going down doesn't require me to bend both knees; just the one. So it's easier than going up or trying to mount a horse," I said as I continued my slow and careful descent, making sure that I kept my right knee from bending too much. It would have been easier if the stairs had a railing, but they didn't. When Lori and I finally reached the bottom, she moved as slowly as I did, keeping pace with me. We were about half way to the tent I shared with Daryl when she turned to me and we stopped walking.

"I wanted to ask you, if you don't mind, if you could start helping with some of the things we have to take care of around here," She sounded sure and unsure at the same time, and I was starting to feel like they expected me to stay with their group from now on. I took a moment to consider. This group had its strong points; the number of people, the loyalty that some had, the fact that they were all willing to put their faith in each other and combine it all and put it in Rick, whose dependency upon Shane seemed to be lessening. I thought about the dinner I had just eaten, along with the conversations we had around the table.

I could do this all the time; being around people again after so long was wonderful, even if some of the people were horrible. I nodded. "Yeah, sure. What needs done tomorrow?"

It was either the weak moonlight falling across her face or the lit lantern by Carol's tent playing tricks, but Lori's eyes and face seemed to light up, like she genuinely concerned that I wouldn't agree to help.

"Well, tomorrow's laundry day, so I guess meet me here again in the morning with anything you or Daryl need to have cleaned, and we'll get started." Lori smiled. "Thank you for agreeing to help."

I nodded and returned her smile, then shrieked when I felt a hand rest heavily on my left shoulder.

"Shh! Calm down woman, it's just me." Came a thick southern drawl that I recognized as Daryl's. I almost knocked his hand off my shoulder, but the weight was comforting.

"What's going on out there?" Dale and Andrea called at the same time, but from different places; Andrea called from her tent, while Dale's voice seemed to come from somewhere near the RV.

"Daryl scared Erin, is all," Lori answered them loudly. "Everything's fine."

"All right," Dale called back. Andrea didn't seem to feel the need to respond. I felt Daryl move closer to me, and his hand slid from my shoulder down to my waist. I leaned into him, and he shifted his arm so that it was wrapped around me in such a way that he could rest his hand comfortably on my right hip.

"I better get back inside to help with the dishes," Lori said after taking in Daryl and my shift in posture.

"Okay. Thanks again for dinner, by the way. It was wonderful." I said after she began to walk back toward the house.

"You're welcome. See you in the morning." She called back over her shoulder.

"What's going on?" Daryl asked after we began walking. His arm stayed around me, and at some point he hooked his thumb through the belt loop of my pants.

"Nothing much. Lori just asked if I could start helping with different chores here." I explained.

"Can your knee handle that?" He tried to move his hand from my belt loop, but before he could I gripped his wrist and moved his hand back to my hip, then for extra security placed my hand over his.

"I think so. If not, I'll collapse and die of starvation in the field," I smiled, then realized he probably wasn't looking at my face. "I'm kidding."

We reached the tent, but we hadn't separated in order to enter it. Instead, Daryl turned his body until he was facing me, and wrapped both arms tightly around my waist. I shifted myself so that I could wrap my own arms around his shoulders, and tried to read his expression but couldn't see his face clearly.

"I've got something I need to do tomorrow, early. I'm not sure how long it'll take, or what'll happen after." He said and rested his forehead against mine. I pulled back enough that I could attempt to look at his face once more, my brow furrowed.

"What is it?" I asked. It didn't sound like something he was fully willing to do, and his tone made me worry.

"It's nothing big. Just something that Rick asked me to do, and I figured it would be best if I got it done early." He dropped his arms to his sides and took a step back, causing my arms to fall from his shoulders. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him, getting more concerned by his change in behavior.

"It's obviously something if you're pushing me away." I turned to enter the tent when once again his hand gripped my left shoulder. I turned around to face him, ready to say something more, when his mouth pressed carefully against mine.

After a second he pulled back, leaving me stunned.

"Sorry." He breathed, stepping back from me. I moved closer to him, closing the space between us.

"For what?" I asked, then in one smooth motion I wouldn't have believed me possible of, I wrapped my arms back around his shoulders and kissed him.


	6. Chapter 6

Six: Randall

After a brief second of hesitation, Daryl's arms curled around me and pulled me closer to him until my body was pressed firmly against his. After another beat, he broke the kiss and looked over my head toward the house.

"We shouldn't have done that," He said quietly.

"Why not?" I asked him, concentrating on trying to read his face in the dark and hoping he wouldn't pull back again.

"Because," he breathed while pulling away from me, and entered the tent. Apparently there would not be further elaboration tonight.

"TRACY, MOVE!" I screamed as loud as I could, and the sound seemed to explode across the yard. Tracy spent another second looking up at me before flinging herself sideways onto the ground, but in the few seconds it took her to process my words and move, the cannibal had focused its attention on me.

It was starting to reach up toward me instead, stumbling forward until it collided with the side of the house, to the right of the ladder. Bill stepped in as soon as Tracy was on the ground, already scooping up the bucket containing the gallon of water and swinging it at the cannibal. He hit it squarely (at least from my view) in the back of the head, and the force of the blow knocked the cannibal's face into the brick wall. The only thing left of the cannibal's head was a small bloody bit; the rest was smashed against the wall and slowly oozing its way down.

The rattling of the ladder informed me that someone was scrambling up, and I didn't bother to look as I scrambled back in order to let whoever it was into the room. Derrick stuck his head out of the now empty window to see what happened, but almost immediately pulled back; Tracy immediately filled the empty space and hopped down onto the floor.

"That happen a lot?" She asked as she turned and stuck her head out the window. "Just send it all up, Bill!" She called down.

"If it did, I wouldn't be holed up here. It must have wandered through the woods in the back." I poked my head around Tracy in order to see what Bill placing in the bucket, but couldn't get a clear view. With the cannibal that had just shown up, I didn't want to protest the weight in the bucket and have more cannibals come along before the supplies were brought in.

The first month we spent in the house was easy. We had a steady flow of supplies from the various runs we did, we managed to find backpacks and other things that would make it easy for us to run if we needed to, and we even started discussing the idea of removing the barrier between the first and second floor so that we could spread out more. Even the cannibals were staying away; the one Bill had gotten rid of had been the only one we had seen, even during the supply runs. When we weren't doing supply runs and when Tracy and Bill weren't locked away in their room, we spent time in the fourth, un-used bedroom, playing board games we found either in the hall closet or on supply runs, getting know each other, and attempting to find any news about the rest of the world.

After almost two months though, the fuel for the generator behind the four car garage was running low enough that we could only have the lights on for an hour at a time at night, and we all felt it was time to move on. There was never any news about the world, so we never bothered turning on the television set or radio anymore. It wasn't until Derrick asked us to meet in his room that I realized how seriously he considered moving on.

His room had been plastered with various state maps, many of the roads marked with different colors, and by each major city and little town, he had pinned a note detailing the pros and cons of stopping there. Each map was connected by the state lines: North Carolina to South, South to Georgia, Georgia to Alabama and Florida, and so on. He had a handful of the southern states covered.

"Where did all this come from?" I asked when I entered the room.

"I found a trucker's atlas on last week's supply run. Every major and some not so major highway is listed, along with the towns along the way. Most of the maps are still in the atlas, since it covers all fifty states, and I thought we should only cover the close warm ones." Derrick explained, then turned to the three of us as we settled into the room. "So…while it's been great here, I think we all know we can't stay much longer. The generator is quickly loosing fuel, and on the last supply run, there were cannibals moving further from the town, and closer to us. I think we need to consider the idea of moving on, and before winter comes. We just need to figure out where to go to."

On the one hand, I wanted to stay here for a while longer; the generator would hold out for at least another two weeks, if we were careful, and somehow we still had running water. On the other hand, I wanted to go back to trying to find my family, even though I knew that they were likely gone.

"The CDC is in Atlanta," Tracy offered and pointed to the map of Georgia. "We could probably get there easily, even if we take 95 the whole way." Both the boys nodded, and Derrick put a mark next to Atlanta with a black erasable marker, a color that had yet to be placed on the maps.

"I was headed to Chicago, before. We could try there, too." I suggested, knowing it would be a bad idea. Chicagoans tended to not have generators for their homes, and the winters by the lake could be brutal. Never mind the idea that Chicago was significantly further away than Atlanta.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Bill spoke up. "I've heard winter there can be really bad, and I doubt anyone in a city that size would think to take power outage preparations. I think I'd rather go cannibal than icicle."

I bit on my lip and knew he was right.

"What about Florida?" Tracy asked while standing and walking to a map that held the entirety of Florida on it. "I mean, look at it. Water on almost all sides, gators that can eat anything slow moving that gets too close, like the cannibals do, and we can go to the coast. Maybe even find a boat that can get us as far as the Keys, or even Cuba or Mexico or something, to see if other places are dealing with this shit too."

"Trace, are you suggesting that the gators would be a contributing factor in our survival, or our demise? Because honestly, I don't want to end up in pieces in the wetlands." Derrick said while checking out the map with her.

"Both," She suggested, and looked closer at the south western tip of Florida. After a moment, she tapped her finger on the map. "Here! We can go to Osprey, they're bound to have at least two Marinas. We'll grab a boat and sail along the coast until we reach the Keys, check 'em out, then move on if we need to."

I got up from my seat on the floor and joined Tracy and Derrick at the map; Bill looked completely un-interested.

"It's not bad," I said while looking at where she was pointing. "Except I don't know about you, but I can't drive a boat."

"We'll figure it out when we get there." Bill pitched in. He seemed to like the Florida idea, even if he wasn't discussing it as thoroughly as we were.

"We can do both." Derrick said while looking at the roads he highlighted. I felt my brow furrow in confusion, and when I looked at Tracy then Bill, their expressions mimicked mine.

"Want to explain that?" Tracy asked as Derrick went back to examine the Georgia map.

"We can stop at the CDC first, then move onto Osprey if the CDC turns out to be a bust." He elaborated while tracing a line with the marker. "This road, here, can get us almost all the way there. It isn't a major highway, but that just means that it probably won't be clogged with dead people and abandoned cars."

"So what road are we going to take to Atlanta, and what road are we taking out?" I asked.

"Tracy's suggestion of 95 is good, and if it's jammed there's enough small roads to take us the rest of the way out of this state, through South Carolina, and down to Atlanta," Derrick answered while tracing another line. "Then this road, here, marked as highway 314, can take us almost all the way to Florida."

The next morning dawned bright but cold. I sat up in my sleeping bag and peeked over the edge of the cot, to see if Daryl was still in bed. He wasn't. I rubbed my eyes to get some of the sleep out, then crawled out of the tent, put on my shoes, and decided to limp my way over to the rest of the group and see if there was anything I could help with. When I reached them, I realized no one was really doing anything; everyone was just sort of standing around, faces still puffy from sleep, but everyone was sort of waiting around, looking warily at the shed off in the distance, where both Rick and Shane were standing off to the side. I had no idea where Daryl, was, and since I couldn't see him, I assumed that he was off hunting.

"What's going on?" I asked while leaning toward Lori. I figured as Rick's wife, she would have a better idea than anyone else.

"I'm, uh, I'm not really sure." She looked at me warily and walked off, taking Carl with her. I watched her retreat toward the smoldering fire, and was hoping she was going to make breakfast (it was early, I was hungry, stop it). After another few minutes of standing around doing nothing and no one talking, I decided to go back to the tent; I needed food, and Lori said today was going to be laundry day, so I thought I may as well bring any clothes out and help wash them.

After downing and entire can of green beans for my breakfast (bleh), I began moving around the tent and the surrounding area, trying to find clothing. It wasn't until I looked toward the trees that I found all of Daryl's clothes, hanging neatly from a line. I had no idea how long the clothes or the line had been there, and I was feeling disappointed in myself; this was something I should have noticed. I dropped the small amount of my clothing that I had been holding (all of which was clothing Maggie, Beth, Andrea, and Carol felt they could part with) onto the ground and began pulling down Daryl's clothes from the line and folding them. When I finished, I looked up and realized that not only had the cluster of people that I had been with not even fifteen minutes ago had broken apart, but also Shane and Rick were arguing again, and Daryl was quickly approaching the tent with a worried Carol watching him.

"You okay?" I asked when he stalked past, and entered the tent, without barely glancing at me. I would have ignored his behavior, if I hadn't seen his bloody knuckles and some blood splatter on his arm and clothes. After a second of hesitation, I stepped over my pile of dirty clothes, and followed him into the tent.

"Daryl?" I asked while staring at his back. He was kneeling in front of his cot, digging through a first-aid kit that I didn't know he had. His shoulders stiffened a little, but he continued moving things around and setting various things on the cot. "Dammit Daryl, I this about us kissing or something else?" I dropped his clothes into a corner of the tent, and moved closer to him.

"It ain't you," he said as he closed the kit.

"What happened to your hand?" He had started ripping open gauze pads with his teeth, and didn't seem to want to move his bloodied knuckles much.

"Nothing," he growled at me. "You done asking questions yet?" He managed to rip open the package, but also ripped the gauze in the process. He started rooting around in the first-aid kit again.

"Oh hell, stop," I almost whined and moved over to where the kit was sitting on the ground. "You're making a mess and you're going to end up just tearing the gauze again. If you won't tell me what the fuck is going on, at least let me clean you up. Now sit on the damn cot before I tie you down." Daryl glanced sideways at me, but did as he was told.

After I got another gauze pad out, as well as a surprisingly small bottle of rubbing alcohol, I moved into the empty space between his open legs, so I could get a better look at his hand.

"How did you do this?" I prompted while pouring alcohol onto the gauze. He shrugged, and I pressed the alcohol soaked gauze gently onto his knuckles. He hesitated a little, but didn't pull his hand from mine.

"I got carried away," he murmured.

"With what?" I reached around him for the anti-bacterial cream he had set out, but Daryl stopped me when he cupped my jaw with his un-damaged hand and forced me to look at him.

"A lot." He said, and kissed me. The kiss was different from last night; he seemed not only less hesitant, but there was something else too, almost an edge of urgency. Before I realized it, his tongue was darting into my mouth, my hands had found their way to his hair, and I was pressing as much of me against him as I could, while his hands were moving over my hips, back, and ass.

Daryl broke the feverish kiss with a slight groan, and pressed his face into my shoulder.

"We should stop," he spoke into my collar bone, his breath hot and as jagged as mine. My hands were still laced in his hair, and my knee was painfully protesting to being on the hard ground, but I didn't want to move from my position between his legs. I lowered my head and gently kissed his sweaty neck, once, twice, three times, all in different spots. His hands, with knuckles still bloody but at least a little cleaner, gripped my hips almost painfully hard. Slowly, I extended the tip of my tongue and licked his neck in a small swirling pattern, tasting the salt and dirt on his skin, before grazing my teeth over the skin and taking a small, nipping bite. He let out a low moan, and slid his hands under my shirt and up my back. He lifted his head, and without looking at me finished taking off my shirt, then dropped it on the floor. He ducked his head back down, but instead of burying his face in my shoulder again as I thought he would, I felt his lips, tongue, and teeth moving over my shoulder, collar bone, neck; kissing, licking, and gently biting.

He pushed my bra straps down off my shoulders and pulled me closer to him; my chest was pressed against his, and before I knew it, he had the clasp to my bra undone, the only thing keeping it from falling off was the fact that I was still pressed against him.

"We should move, or at least close the door," I whispered, not wanting to break the moment but also not being able to stand the pain in my knee. I knew if I stayed in my current position any longer, the pain shooting up into the rest of my body would win over the achingly sweet (and swelling, if I'm being honest) feeling radiating from between my legs. He only nodded and stood carefully, making sure that he didn't cause me harm when he got off the cot. I let out a heavy breath when he moved behind me and I heard the zipper to the tent door closing; I was certain he had changed his mind and left me alone to clean myself up, despite my hearing telling me that soft cloth had hit the sleeping bag covered floor of the tent.

Before I could turn around to look, Daryl moved behind me, and gripped my shoulders. I couldn't think any further than to follow his command and lay down on the floor. Slowly he moved over me, positioning himself so that he hand one leg on either side of mine, as well as his hands placed on either side of my head, above my shoulders. He was going to be agonizingly slow about this, taking his time to tease the ever living shit out of me, I was sure.

Carefully he shifted his weight so that he could hold himself up with his legs and right arm, then reached down and began working on undoing his belt; when he finished with undoing his pants, he started on mine, not once breaking eye contact with me. When he finally finished, he ran his hand slowly over my hip, up my side and cupped my exposed breast, running his thumb over my nipple, which responded almost instantly to the touch. Daryl leaned down, resting a little of his weight on me, and took my now hard nipple into his mouth. He was careful at first, sucking gently then running his tongue over it, then let out a muffled moan and gently bit down. I gasped and my hips thrust up, seemingly with a mind of their own; I gripped his upper arms, and wanted nothing more than to have him in me, on me, _something._

Daryl released the nipple and licked his way over to the other, leaving the slight cold air that was coming in through a small, unzipped gap in the tent door and the saliva he left behind to keep the now exposed nipple hard.

"Oh," I nearly whimpered, when he lifted his head up. He gave me a sly smile and leaned down, kissed my neck once, then kissed his way down to my pants line. He gave a gentle tug, and with a slight assistance, he had not only my jeans off, but the panties as well. After a short pause, Daryl moved back over me, keeping his body close. I could feel his bare hips pressing softly against mine, and realized that the pause before was him removing his own pants. He leaned down, pressed his lips almost harshly to mine, and without breaking the kiss, pushed his hips forward and slid into me.


End file.
